


I'll Be Home For Christmas (If Only)

by isawsevenbirds



Category: Yuri!!! on Ice (Anime)
Genre: Airports, All these boys have issues, Angst, Angst with a Happy Ending, Anxiety, Anxious Katsuki Yuuri, But they support each other, Christmas, Depressed Victor Nikiforov, Depression, First Christmas, M/M, Makkachin is best girl, Mari is the best sister, Panic Attacks, Phichit Chulanont Is a Good Friend, Phichit Chulanont is a Little Shit, Post-Canon
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-12-23
Updated: 2020-12-25
Packaged: 2021-03-10 23:14:32
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 3
Words: 15,815
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/28265241
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/isawsevenbirds/pseuds/isawsevenbirds
Summary: “What’s the big deal? Christmas isn’t all that important – ”“It is to me!” Yuuri winced at the petulance in his own voice. He was about to apologise when Victor cut in.“Well then maybe – maybe this was never going to work! Maybe you should just have stayed in Hasetsu!”A pit of fear was opening up under Yuuri’s feet. What if Victor was right? What if this life they had just begun to build for themselves wasn’t going to work out, and they were both wasting their time and throwing away their careers for nothing?“Maybe I will,” he snapped back, and hung up....Yuuri and Victor are supposed to be spending their first Christmas together in St Petersburg, but as new fears and old anxieties rear their heads, the cracks begin to show.
Relationships: Katsuki Yuuri/Victor Nikiforov
Comments: 14
Kudos: 147





	1. Chapter 1

**Author's Note:**

> So originally, when I wrote this back in 2018, it was going to be a break-up fic. A Christmas break-up fic.
> 
> Luckily, I wimped out of that, because I love these two far too much. There's still a lot of angst going on, and everyone (except possibly Mari) is struggling in some way, but hearts only get bruised rather than broken. 
> 
> CW for anxiety, panic attacks, depression and vague suicidal ideation.
> 
> Beta-read by the fabulous HDMRox.
> 
> To anyone reading this: I hope your Christmas or winter holiday is less stressful than Yuuri and Victor's, but given that this is 2020, I won't hold my breath!

_I’ll be home for Christmas_

_You can count on me_

_Please have snow_

_And mistletoe_

_And presents under the tree_

_Christmas Eve will find me_

_Where the lovelight gleams_

_I’ll be home for Christmas_

_If only in my dreams_

– Kim Gannon, ‘I’ll Be Home For Christmas’

___

**Tokyo, 09:00**

Mari put her hand on Yuuri’s shoulder and squeezed gently. “Hey. Breathe. It’s okay.”

Yuuri stiffened and jerked away from her before he could stop himself. _No, it’s not,_ he wanted to snap, but he swallowed the words. None of this was her fault. He gripped the handle of his suitcase so tightly it hurt, and stared mutinously down at the linoleum floor.

He heard Mari bite back a sigh. “Stay here,” she said, her tone carefully cheerful. “I’ll go and see if there’re any seats up ahead. You never know – they might’ve announced your flight by the time I’m back!”

As soon as her footsteps had faded, Yuuri looked up at the departures board again, scanning the rows of white and red lettering in desperation. _Come on, come on, come on._ New York, 08:40, cancelled. Manila, 09:20, cancelled. Paris, Helsinki, Madrid, Venice, delayed, delayed, delayed, cancelled. All of them meant to have left hours ago, but hampered by the heaviest snow Tokyo had seen in years. There was still no sign of the St Petersburg flight. Compulsively he watched the screen tick round again once, twice, three times.

The characters had begun to blur into meaningless smudges by the time Mari re-appeared beside him. “C’mon, there’re a couple over this way.” He let her steer him gently but firmly towards the vacant seats, mumbling in half-hearted protest when she tugged his backpack off and hefted it over her shoulder. “Ouch, kidda, what’ve you got in here? Bricks?”

She had draped her coat over the two seats to mark her place, and now she drew it back with a flourish. Yuuri forced a smile as he collapsed gratefully into the hard plastic chair.

“Want a drink?” Mari asked, dumping the rucksack on the other seat.

_The only thing I want is to get on that plane_ , he thought, but all he said was ‘Mmm’. At least a drink might distract him for a while from this maddening wait.

“I’ll be right back.” Mari gave his shoulder another gentle squeeze before hurrying off again.

_For God’s sake, get your act together,_ Yuuri scolded himself as he dug in his pocket for his phone. Mari had come all the way to Haneda with him just to see him off; the least he could do was be nice to her, instead of behaving like some stupid sullen teenager.

Two texts and a missed call – all from Victor, of course. He skipped over the messages and called him straight back.

“Yuuri, babe, hey! I’m so sorry about the flight –”

“Hey yourself,” Yuuri laughed, feeling some of the tension uncoil from his stomach and shoulders as Victor’s voice greeted him. “How did you –” He stopped, and sighed fondly. “You’re on some kind of flight tracker, aren’t you?”

He could picture the sheepish look on Victor’s face as he said, “I can’t help it, babe. I worry about you when you’re not here with me.”

“Good thing I’m going to be seeing you soon, then.”

“But what about your flight?”

“I can wait.” Things weren’t so bad now he’d spoken to Victor again; the knot in his stomach was loosening already, and each breath came more easily than the last. “I mean, it has to show up eventually, right?” He laughed. “It would be nice to know _when_ , but –”

“What do you mean? It’s been cancelled, it’s not going to – ”

“Cancel… what? How –” Yuuri glanced up at the nearest departures board just as the screen changed, and there it was at the bottom of the list, in stark red characters.

St Petersburg Pulkovo via Moscow Sheremetyevo, 07:00: CANCELLED

“Oh _fuck –”_

“Babe –”

“What am I going to do, fuck, _fuck –”_

Mari chose that exact moment to reappear, triumphantly clutching two steaming Starbucks cups. “Got you the usual. Well, decaf, obviously, since we can’t have you any more wound up than you already –” She stopped, her face falling. “What’s up, kidda?”

Yuuri gestured at the board, barely listening to her.

“Babe? You still there?”

“Fuck, what do I do now, I don’t know what to do, everything’s cancelled, _everything –”_

“Shit, Yuuri –”

Victor’s voice? Mari’s? The two of them at once were overwhelming. His fingers tensed around his phone as panic pulled its cords tight around his chest again.

“Yuuri?”

_‘Your attention please. Due to the continued heavy snow, all flights departing from Tokyo Haneda between 05:00 and 12:00 have been cancelled. We apologise for the inconvenience…’_

“You still there?”

“Where else would I fucking be!”

Victor’s hurt gasp finally pierced through the fog of fear in his brain, too late for him to snatch back the barbed words. “Shit, I’m sorry, I…” He cast about desperately for an excuse, but Victor was waiting and Mari was waiting and he didn’t know what to do or what to say, he didn’t know how to make this right, _he didn’t know he didn’t know he didn’t know_ – “I’m sorry, Victor, I’d better go.” He hung up before Victor could reply.

He turned to Mari, helpless, and was met with a raised eyebrow, and a coffee cup held out in his direction. “First you’re going to drink this, and then we’re going to sort out this mess, okay?”

Yuuri nodded and took the coffee without a word; he had a feeling she wasn’t just talking about the flight.

His appetite had all but evaporated, but the last thing he wanted to do was seem ungrateful. He concentrated on taking tiny sips of the too-hot, too-sweet liquid, glad of the brief reprieve from having to think.

He was only halfway through the coffee when Mari, who had been tapping away furiously at her phone, let out a sigh of annoyance. “Bad news, kidda. All the flights via Moscow are off.”

He waited, tense. Mari gave another sigh. “There are flights from Narita – ”

Yuuri stood up, kicking his bag over in his haste. “Great. Let’s go.”

“ – but they have about four layovers each and they’re _super_ expensive and you can’t _seriously_ be thinking – ”

“I promised Victor I’d be there for Christmas.” A pang of guilt hit him as he realised he still hadn’t apologised for his outburst. He reached for his phone, then hesitated. Was there any point in calling until he knew what was actually going on? _I should probably at least text him._

_Really sorry for freaking out. I’m looking at other flights now. Will let you know when everything’s sorted x_

Victor’s replied arrived before he’d even dropped his phone back into his pocket. As he opened the message, Mari put a hand on his shoulder.

“Yuuri. Be sensible.”

That stung. He was trying as hard as he could, but there was only so much he could do when it felt like the world was on fire, and Mari should know that.

“Are you sure you want to spend Christmas Eve on a plane? You could just come home, you know.”

“Hasetsu isn’t home.” The words were out of his mouth before he could stop them.

Mari drew back her hand, silent. Yuuri knew he should say something – take it back, deny it – but he couldn’t. Hasetsu _wasn’t_ home, not anymore. Not when he’d spent less than six months there in the past six years. Detroit and Phichit and Celestino had been his home for most of that time – and now there was Victor, waiting for him in their apartment in St Petersburg with Makkachin and a thousand plans that were all going to go to waste if he couldn’t get on a bloody plane.

“I promised Victor,” he said again, weakly.

“Okay.” Mari’s slight smile didn’t mask the hurt in her eyes. “But next year Victor comes to us for Christmas. Deal?”

_I should talk to him first – what if Makkachin can’t travel – what if Victor already has plans –_

“Deal.” He could worry about the finer details later. Gulping the rest of his coffee down, he skimmed through Victor’s texts.

_You don’t need to apologise for anything!!_

_It must be really stressful._

_Wish you were here so I could give you a hug!_

_Oh, I guess if you were already here then you wouldn’t be stressed in the first place, right?_

_I’d still hug you though!_

_Anyway, I hope everything gets sorted out soon! Can’t wait to see you xxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxx_

Yuuri managed a smile as he typed out _I can’t wait to see you either – and Makka of course!_ Victor would be there when he finally got to St Petersburg; maybe everything was going to be okay after all.

…

“Oh God. What are we supposed to do now?” He wanted to give up, wanted to simply sink to the floor and refuse to move. His arms ached from dragging his suitcase behind him, his heart was hammering at the back of his throat, and he could feel tears pricking at his eyes. “I can’t believe the _trains_ – ”

“I know, kidda.” Mari was still calm, but she’d lost her smile, and he could see the doubt in her eyes.

He ignored it. _Victor’s waiting for me. I have to be there. I’ll_ walk _there if I have to._

Rationally, he knew that trying to walk across Tokyo was a stupid idea, but with the trains not running, what else could he do?

“Alright, let’s get you in a taxi.” Mari sighed, scanning the airport station for a sign to the taxi rank.

_Idiot._ Why hadn’t he thought of that? _Idiot, idiot, idiot._ He could have punched himself. _Why on Earth Victor puts up with you –_

“When’s the first flight out of Narita?” he forced himself to ask before his thoughts could spiral any further.

Mari scrolled quickly through her phone. “There’s one in a couple of hours. Pricey, but only one change outside Russia, and with the time difference you’ll just about make it to St Petersburg for Christmas Eve.”

“Great. Thanks. Let’s go.” It came out curt, rude even, but he trusted Mari to pick up on the tightness in his voice, the way his hands had begun to tremble.

She gave him a pat on the arm and picked up his suitcase. “This way. C’mon.”

He trailed after her, his back aching with the weight of his rucksack. At least he’d be able to put it down soon – put it down in a warm taxi that would take him to Narita, one step closer to Victor. It had barely been three weeks since the final, but he missed Victor as if they’d been apart for years. He smiled to himself. _And you tease_ him _for being the soppy one_ _–_

He almost crashed into Mari, who had stopped dead in front of him. “What – ” As he peered around her, his stomach sank.

The taxi rank was still almost half a mile away, but the corridor in front of them was jammed with people in a snaking, barely-moving line.

Yuuri let go of his suitcase, startling himself as it crashed to the floor at his feet.

“Yuuri – ”

There was no way he’d be able to drag it all the way to Narita. His skates were in his rucksack, along with his medication and his presents for Victor and Makkachin; everything else he could live without. He had no idea how long it would take him to walk to the airport, especially in this weather, but he had no other choice. _I shouldn’t have gone back to Hasetsu after Nationals. I should’ve seen this coming and caught the earliest flight out._

“Yuuri, where are you going?”

“I have a flight to catch.”

Mari stared at him. “What are you gonna do, _skate_ there?”

He bristled, too tense to be joking around. “It would probably be quicker than – than _this_!” He gestured vaguely to the queue ahead of them, which was moving at a glacial rate towards the still-invisible taxi stand. “I have to get on that plane. I promised him – it’s our first Christmas together, I can’t let him down, _please_ – ”

“Hey you, get a move on! Some of us have places to be!” A shoulder barged into him, and he tripped over his suitcase and fell against Mari.

“Oi, knock it off!” Mari scolded the man who’d pushed him, helping Yuuri up. “You okay, kidda?”

Yuuri clung to her, shaking, his heart beating so fast that he thought he might pass out. He shook his head stiffly. If he opened his mouth, he was either going to throw up or start crying, and he couldn’t bear the thought of either. He was vaguely aware of Mari slipping the rucksack off his shoulders and picking the suitcase up off the floor, but he wasn’t sure why she was doing that, or where they were going, only that his feet were moving him forwards and somehow, somehow, the floor beneath him was staying steady. Okay. He could do this. As long as the floor held out, instead of tipping away under his feet, he could do this. On step, then another. Keep going forwards, although he didn’t know where ‘forwards’ was leading. There was a hand on his shoulder, guiding him; maybe that was why he hadn’t fallen over. He concentrated on the comforting weight of it as it – they – steered him along the corridor, out into a wider room, over to a seat. _Sit down. Go on._ But his legs wouldn’t bend, or maybe he’d forgotten how to bend them; he could only stand there, locked in place, as his heart clambered up into his throat and tried to force its way out through his clenched teeth. _No no no no no –_

“Here. Let me help you.” Gently, the hand that had been resting on his shoulder moved back to the back of his knees and manoeuvred him into the chair. The cold, hard surface beneath him felt good, steady.

“Okay, kidda, that’s it. I’ve got you. You’re doing great.”

_Mari,_ he thought dimly, but there was still too much noise in his head for the thought to carry any meaning.

“Breathe with me, yeah? Okay. Breathe in. That’s it. Okay, now breathe out. Steady now. And in again? Good. Great.”

As he followed the directions of Mari’s voice, he felt the pressure in his chest lessen slightly. Still, it was an age before he was breathing normally again, before he could stop gripping the edge of his chair and trust it not to tip suddenly sideways and send him sprawling to the ground.

“Hey, kidda. That looked like it was a bad one. You okay?”

Yuuri nodded. “I think so. Just need to… sit for a bit.”

Mari put her arm around his shoulder, and he leant into the softness of her coat, exhausted. “Hey, Mari, I’m really – ”

“Nope.”

“How’d you even – ”

“I know what you’re like, kidda. I know you’re about to start apologising, and if I let you start, you’re not gonna stop until you’re through security. For the record, you don’t have to apologise for anything, but if you really want to, wait until you’ve landed in St Petersburg, okay?”

Yuuri snuggled closer. “I’ve missed you.”

“Me too, kidda. Now, I wonder where the nearest Rent-a-Car is?”

…

“Hey, er, you _sure_ you wouldn’t rather come back to Hasetsu for Christmas?”

When he didn’t answer, Mari sighed and switched on the radio. There was a song playing, an old Bing Crosby number he vaguely remembered Phichit crooning at a karaoke bar in Detroit their second Christmas together. _Please have snow and mistletoe…_ He was too on edge to follow the words properly, but the tune tugged at him, sentimental and nostalgic and cruel. For a moment he thought he might cry. Then the itch of tears was gone, frustration seething in its place as he stared through the windscreen at the line of cars crawling along ahead of them. _Stupid snow._ Maybe Mari was right, and he should have stayed in Kyushu after all. Maybe this was a stupid idea. Maybe he should never have expected the move to Russia to go smoothly, because when had things ever gone smoothly when he was involved? If he couldn’t even leave the country without having his worst panic attack in months, how was he supposed to make it all the way home? What if he forgot something, what if he got stopped at customs, what if he had a panic attack on a plane full of strangers with no Mari or Phichit or Makkachin to calm him down?

“Yuuri. Breathe.” Mari spoke without even turning her head to look at him.

_Victor will be there_ , he told himself sternly. _There’ll be WiFi on the flight, you can message him if you really need to._ But what about when he landed? What then?

“ _Breathe_.” Mari’s tone was firmer now.

He tried to obey, but his breath kept catching in his throat. _You know what happens when you panic in front of Victor. You know how useless he is._

He pulled his phone out of his pocket in such a hurry that he almost dropped it underneath his seat. His hands were shaking again. He’d already missed a couple of messages from Victor, short ones asking hopefully if there was any news, if he was okay. And here he was complaining to himself about Victor when Yuuri was the one who had left him hanging – it had been more than an hour since they had spoken.

He wanted to call and apologise, but he didn’t trust his voice to hold steady, and if Victor knew he was upset then he would only worry, and what was the point of that? Victor would try to comfort him, of course, but Yuuri didn’t deserve it, not with the way he’d been doubting Victor. _And he wouldn’t be any good at it anyway –_

He started typing furiously, trying to silence the thoughts howling through his head.

_Hi love, sorry for not getting back to you earlier. I’m still not sure what flight I’m going to be on – Mari and I are on our way to Narita now instead, but the weather’s crazy and we’re stuck in a traffic jam. I’ll call you when I’ve sorted out my ticket. Give Makka extra cuddles for me and tell her I’m on my way. I love you._

He’d never usually be this demonstrative, at least not in writing, but he owed it to Victor.

Victor responded almost immediately. A photo of himself with Makkachin on his lap, nose practically pressed up against the screen. Half a dozen more followed, each one a little less of Victor and a little more of Makkachin, until finally the screen was filled with a shapeless black mass that Yuuri assumed was Makkachin’s nose. _She saw me taking selfies and wanted to join in,_ read the accompanying message.

_Tell her she’s the best girl,_ Yuuri wrote back. _Phichit’s going to be so jealous_ _– he never managed to teach any of his hamsters to take a selfie._

_She’s actually supposed to be in time-out right now for stealing my breakfast. But she took one look at me and I had to let her out._

Yuuri laughed fondly. Both he and Victor were too soft on Makka, he knew, but really, what was the harm in spoiling her? She was getting on in years, but she still acted like a puppy, and besides, neither of them could bear to deny her anything after that scare with the manjū.

He sent the photos to Phichit, along with a teasing, _Looks like Makka beat the Three Tenors to it on the selfie front._

Phichit didn’t reply straight away – he’d be at morning training, Yuuri realised – but it must have been break time, because five minutes later he messaged Yuuri back. His response said simply _:((((((_

“Hey, looks like the traffic’s getting lighter up ahead. You might make that first flight after all.”

“Great.” Yuuri considered letting Victor know, but he didn’t want to jinx anything. Best to hold back until he was at the gate, boarding pass in hand; until then, he couldn’t let himself believe that he was actually going to make it.

…

God, Yuuri hated it when his anxiety was right about things.

“It’s completely sold out? There are no cancellations or anything? You’re absolutely sure?”

The immaculately-dressed woman behind the counter gave him a sympathetic but professional smile. “I’m sorry, sir. There’s nothing I can do.”

“Okay. Okay.” Yuuri turned away from the airline counter so that the woman couldn’t see the panic on his face. His head was a mess. _Shit what do I do now –_

“When’s the next flight?” Mari asked the woman smoothly, placing a steadying hand on Yuuri’s arm.

“Let me just check that for you.” The woman tapped away at her computer, the sound drilling into Yuuri’s skull and setting his teeth on edge. “There’s one in four hours with layovers in Seoul and Nur-Sultan – oh, but there’s only one seat left, I’m sorry.”

“That’s okay.” Mari stepped in before Yuuri had a chance to string a sentence together. “I’m just here to drop my brother off. I’m not actually travelling myself.”

“In that case, would you like to pay and check in now, sir?” the woman smiled, shifting her attention from Mari to Yuuri.

“I – um – ” _Calm down. She’s only asking whether you want this ticket. Yes or no question, idiot._ “Er – ” he could feel his face heating up as the woman waited for his answer; her smile never slipped, but a look of bemusement was creeping into her eyes. He nodded vigorously. “I. Um. Yes please. Yes, that would be great. Thank you. How much is it?”

He knew that the pat on the arm Mari gave him was supposed to be comforting, but it only reminded him what a terrible job he was doing of acting like a normal, functioning human being. Irritation stung at him and he had to concentrate so hard on not letting it show, on not swatting Mari’s hand away, that he missed the woman’s answer. She was looking at him again, waiting for a response.

“Um, can I pay by card?” he asked, hoping that he had enough. He’d have to sort out the claim for the cancelled flight somehow, and he’d been meaning to talk to Victor about opening a joint account. He wasn’t sure how to do either; it was Celestino who had smoothed over any problems with his or Phichit’s travel expenses before, and as for the account, how was he supposed to bring it up? What if Victor thought that Yuuri just wanted access to his money? _That’s ridiculous. I don’t even know how much he has._ But the thought wouldn’t leave him. _And what if it’s not even legal?_

“Here, let me,” Mari said into the silence that Yuuri had missed under the noise of his own thoughts. She pulled out her wallet.

“Wait, no, you can’t!” Yuuri reached frantically for his own wallet, but he couldn’t reach the pocket of his rucksack where he’d shoved it, and Mari had got her card out before he’d even managed to take his bag off.

“Yuuri, I work full-time. I owe you something to celebrate Nationals. And most importantly, you’re my baby brother. So yes, I think I can.” With a wicked grin at Yuuri, she handed her card to the woman at the counter. “If you want to pay me back, you can take some of my shifts at the onsen in your off season.”

_Wait. Does she think I’m coming back to Hasetsu when the season’s over? Do Mum and Dad not realise I’ve moved out for good? Does this mean they don’t really believe that Victor and I –_

“I’m _joking_ , kidda.” Mari’s playful shove was only gentle, but it was enough to startle Yuuri into dropping his rucksack.

“Sorry,” he muttered, hurriedly picking it up again and hugging it against his body like a shield. His blood was pounding in his ears again. It wasn’t until Mari lifted his suitcase onto the conveyor belt that he even realised the woman had already started checking him in.

“May I see your passport, please?”

He slipped his hand into the front pocket of his rucksack and felt his heart stop.

His passport wasn’t there.

He felt around in the pocket desperately – perhaps it had just slipped behind his phone or his wallet – but found nothing. He started to take out the contents of the pocket one by one: phone, wallet, the keys to his and Victor’s apartment, meds. Still no passport.

Just as he was about to turn his rucksack upside down and tip everything out on the floor, Mari turned around from the luggage belt. “Your passport’s in your coat pocket, Yuuri. You took it out in the car to check it, remember?”

He couldn’t remember having done that – the whole of the drive was a whiteout of panic – but he put his hand in his coat pocket and, sure enough, there was his passport. He all but threw it down on the desk, his hands shaking. “Um. Sorry.”

The woman waved away his apologies, but he could feel her eyes appraising him, the high colour in his cheeks, his ragged breathing. He wished he could spirit himself away somewhere he wouldn’t feel judgement scalding him – Ice Castle Hasetsu, his Detroit dorm room, the apartment in St Petersburg. Victor might have no idea how to deal with his panic attacks, but at least he recognised them for what they were.

But he still had to get through this flight. _Three_ flights. He took a deep breath and tried to convince himself that everything was going to be fine.

The woman handed back his passport, his boarding passes tucked neatly inside. “Have a good journey, sir.” Yuuri nodded politely, biting back the automatic ‘You too’ just in time.

He turned to Mari. “I guess I should say goodbye at this point.”

Mari’s smile softened, and she enveloped him in a tight hug. “You sure I can’t convince you to stay?”

_I almost wish you would._ Yuuri just hugged her back, steeling himself for the journey ahead. He let go before the lump in his throat could betray him. “Merry Christmas, Mari.”

“Merry Christmas, kidda. Let me know when you get there, okay?”

“Of course.” He hesitated. “Thanks. For everything.”

“You owe me one,” Mari grinned. “But we can sort that out once you’re on solid ground again.” She punched him lightly on the arm. “Now have a safe journey!” And, with a wave, she was gone.

Despite himself, Yuuri smiled. Mari had always been bad with goodbyes – even worse than he was.

He had a few hours to kill before his flight, but it was probably worth going through to his gate as soon as possible; even if he’d wanted to go on a shopping spree, it wasn’t as though his suitcase would carry any more. He’d already bought his present for Victor weeks in advance, and there was no-one else in Russia who would be expecting anything from him.

Security always made him nervous, but this time, things went off without a hitch. There were no arguments over medication, or putting his skates in his carry-on; instead he was greeted by name and waved through with unfamiliar speed. It was only in the past year that people outside Hasetsu had started recognising him by sight; it wasn’t an entirely unpleasant feeling, but he had to wonder. _Would they still have recognised me if I hadn’t won the gold?_ Would people still be pointing him out to each other when he failed – as he inevitably would? Or would they allow him to fade into anonymity?

Mentally, he shook himself as he headed for the departure gate. _You have a chance at real success now. With Victor –_

Victor, who was probably frantic with worry by this point. Yuuri still hadn’t called him back. Depositing himself on the nearest available seat, he quickly dug out his phone.

“Hi, love – ”

“YUURI!” In the background, he could hear Makkachin barking; clearly, she didn’t like the volume any more than Yuuri’s eardrums did. “Did you get your flight sorted?”

“Yeah. Well. Flights, actually. Plural.” _Mari sorted it for me, because apparently I’m too pathetic to manage that by myself,_ he thought, but didn’t say.

“Amazing! I’m so glad! So is everything all right? What are your flight numbers? What time are you getting in?”

“Uh, one sec,” Yuuri mumbled, realising with a jolt that he’d never actually checked the flight times. He rifled through his bag and pulled out his passport. “So the first leg is flight number KAL1103, leaving Narita at 15:00. Second leg is KC873. Third leg is DP557, arriving into St Petersburg Pulkovo at… Hang on, that can’t be right.” He stared hard at the figures on his boarding pass, trying to corral the black lines into something that made sense. Had they failed to calculate the time zones properly? Was there some kind of misprint?

“Babe? You still there?”

“Yeah, I, um… Could you check something for me?”

“Sure, what’s up?”

“I’m leaving at three, but my boarding pass says I don’t get into St Petersburg until five o’clock on _Christmas Day._ That’s got to be a mistake. The flight I was supposed to be on would be halfway to you by now.”

Silence but for Victor’s breathing and the tapping of his fingers on a keyboard. Knowing him, he’d have been scanning the flight trackers even before Yuuri called; it wouldn’t take him a minute to put this right.

“KAL1103, KC873 and DP557, yeah? No, that’s right. Taking off from Narita at 15:00, layovers at Seoul and Nur-Sultan, and then landing here at 17:00 on Christmas Day, total flight time 32 hours.” Victor let out a low whistle. “That’s a hell of a journey, babe – you going to be all right?”

“What do you…” Frantic, Yuuri flipped through the boarding passes, scanning the times on each one. They matched what Victor had said. “Shit. _Shit._ ”

“What’s the matter?”

“ _What’s the matter?_ The _matter_ is that I’m not going to get to see you until Christmas is nearly over, Victor, which means I’ve gone and ruined _everything_ – ”

“Don’t be silly! The only thing that matters is that you get back safely – ”

“How can you say that?” Yuuri could feel people’s eyes on him, and he lowered his voice. “It’s your _birthday,_ Victor.”

Victor’s humourless laugh made Yuuri’s heart sink. “I’m turning twenty-nine, Yuuri. That’s hardly something to celebrate.”

He had said almost exactly the same thing when Yuuri had tried to congratulate him on his silver at Nationals. _‘I lost to someone_ twelve years _younger than me. That’s not something to celebrate.’_

_You didn’t_ lose, _you won silver_ , Yuuri had said then. But Victor had remained implacable. Yuri Plisetsky’s inconvenient triumph had bruised him, and Yuuri didn’t dare aggravate the pain by pushing the point, then or now.

“Okay, but’s it’s also our anniversary.”

“I know, babe.” Victor sounded brighter, probably glad to be off the subject of Nationals – and in truth Yuuri was, too. He couldn’t shake the feeling that Victor would have won gold – and won it easily – had he not been coaching Yuuri at the same time. “But you don’t need to stress about it. It’s not like you forgot it or something. And you’re still going to be here for it – ”

“For _seven hours_ of it! We were supposed to have the whole day!”

“It’s okay, Yuuri. You’ll be home for part of the day, and for all of the days after that, and besides, it’s only our _engagement_ anniversary, right? You can start worrying once we’re actually married and we have to celebrate properly.”

Although Yuuri knew that Victor was only trying to comfort him, Victor’s easy laugh grated on his nerves. “You know we might never be able to get married,” Yuuri said, hating the truth of the words, hating himself for voicing them.

Victor coughed, and was silent for a moment. “Anyway, Orthodox Christmas isn’t until the 7th of January.” His laugh this time had an edge of unease to it.

“You’re not Orthodox, Victor.”

“No, but Yakov is. And he’s invited us both over for a meal, remember? So you’ll be able to spend Christmas – ”

“I don’t want to spend Christmas with your sodding coach, Victor! I want to spend it with _you._ ”

“And you will – ”

“Yeah, all _twelve minutes_ of it.”

“Don’t exaggerate, Yuuri.”

“That’s rich, coming from you!” Yuuri burst out before he could stop himself.

“What do you mean?” Victor asked sharply.

“You know perfectly well what I mean! Who phones their partner in tears and tells them their career’s over because they just won a fucking silver medal?”

“Yuuri, you know what was at stake – ”

“Your pride, that’s what!” Yuuri could feel people beginning to stare again, but he couldn’t stop himself. “Have you forgotten where I ended up last year? Eleventh place! _Eleventh place,_ Victor! And did I immediately retire? No! You just can’t face the fact that you’re not the Great World Champion anymore, can you? Can’t believe that anyone could be _better_ than Living Legend Victor Nikiforov – ”

“He’s _sixteen_ , for God’s sake! He’s got _years –_ why couldn’t he have stayed in Juniors for _one more season_ – ”

“Because not everything is about you!”

“Yuuri – ”

“What, you can’t bear not to be the centre of attention even for a second – ”

“That’s not fair – ”

“ _Not fair_? Stop acting like a child – ”

Victor barked out a bitter laugh. “I’m not the one losing his shit over being home a bit late.”

The words stung like a slap. “ _A bit late_? I’m missing the whole of Christmas!”

“What’s the big deal? Christmas isn’t all that important – ”

“It is to me!” Yuuri winced at the petulance in his own voice. He was about to apologise when Victor cut in.

“Well then maybe – maybe this was never going to work! Maybe you should just have stayed in Hasetsu!”

A pit of fear was opening up under Yuuri’s feet. What if Victor was right? What if this life they had just begun to build for themselves wasn’t going to work out, and they were both wasting their time and throwing away their careers for nothing?

“Maybe I will,” he snapped back, and hung up.

Now that he no longer had the call to concentrate on, Yuuri was suddenly hyper-aware of the sidelong glances. The muttering. The empty space opening up around him as the other passengers in the departure lounge gave him a wide berth. And no wonder; who would want to be around a stranger yelling down the phone at his partner on Christmas Eve, like some drunk salaryman being kicked out of a bar? His face burning, Yuuri made for the toilets as fast as he could.

Perhaps he shouldn’t have been so sharp with Victor. Perhaps this wasn’t the time, or the place. But he and Victor did need to talk about these things, about the way their needs kept colliding with each other, and Victor kept refusing. He was so stubborn, and he would never just _listen._ Especially when he knew Yuuri was about to bring up Victor’s black moods, his insomnia, his tendency to paste a too-bright smile over the cracks that both of them could see but that Victor would not admit to. It would have been exhausting even if half of Yuuri’s energy was not already spent on corralling the mess in his own brain into something manageable; as it was, he doubted he could keep it up for much longer.

For a fraction of a second, Yuuri toyed with the idea of carrying out his carelessly-flung threat. Walking back out of the airport, getting on the first train or bus that was running, and going back to Hasetsu.

But he knew he wouldn’t, had known it even as he snapped wildly at Victor. For one thing, Mari had paid for his ticket; for another, his suitcase would already be tucked away in the hold of the plane he was supposed to be boarding in two hours. And, most importantly, he did want to see Victor. _Had_ to see him. They just needed some time to cool off first.

Yuuri would have to talk to him later, of course. But right now he didn’t have the strength to apologise, the energy to be patient. He sighed, and put his phone down next to the sink so he wouldn’t be tempted to call Victor back straight away and risk making things even worse than they already were. Neither of them would say anything new until they had put some daylight between themselves and the argument.

Taking a deep breath, Yuuri surveyed himself in the bathroom mirror. There were bags under his eyes and a tightness to his hastily-composed smile that betrayed the fear underneath, but he’d seen much worse. At least he hadn’t cried this time.

He sighed and ran a hand through his hair. As long as he didn’t run into any reporters who recognised him, it would be fine. He would talk to Victor when he felt a little calmer. Right now, what he needed was a nap.

Picking up his rucksack from where he’d unceremoniously dumped it, he headed back out into the departure lounge, half-expecting all eyes to be on him. In fact, no-one so much as looked up as he hurried over to a vacant seat and curled up with his head on his rucksack. He considered setting an alarm, but decided not to bother; if the flight announcements didn’t wake him, the general commotion of boarding would. He never slept deeply when he was this ill at ease. He closed his eyes and drifted into a fitful doze.

He was awoken an hour and a half later by the bright, featureless voice of a woman announcing that the KAL1103 flight for Seoul was ready to board. Groggily he sat up, pushing his glasses back up his nose, and recovered his coat from under his chair. He was still yawning as he joined the queue, and he barely noticed the time it took him to reach the front of the line and make his way through the airport tunnel onto the plane.

As he took his seat, he reached into his pocket to switch his phone to flight mode.

It wasn’t there.

Perhaps it was in his bag instead, or a different pocket? There was no need to panic yet. His passport had turned up, after all. If he could just think through where he’d been –

Oh. Oh _no._

He knew exactly where it was.

It was sitting next to the sink in the men’s toilets.

Oh God, he was such an _idiot._

“Are you okay?” asked the man sitting next to him as Yuuri put his head in his hands.

Without looking at him, Yuuri nodded stiffly and started rummaging through his bag to stop the man starting a conversation with him. If he could just keep his head down – keep his hands busy with meaningless rifling through the clothes he’d ended up stuffing into his rucksack because he was terrible at packing and they wouldn’t fit in his suitcase –

“Sir?”

Yuuri jumped as a flight attendant appeared at his shoulder.

“Please put your belongings under the seat in front of you, sir.”

She was just doing her job, of course, but Yuuri heard recrimination in her voice, felt his face burn as hotly as if he were back at the Detroit rink, taking a rare scolding from Celestino in front of his rinkmates. He quickly shoved his bag back under the seat in front, flushing as half of its contents scattered across the floor. Trying not to swear, he gathered up the bits and pieces in a pair of boxers that had spilt out of the bag – _why did it have to be the poodle ones_ _–_ and struggled to close it, his hands fumbling with the zip. He kicked the rucksack hard until it lodged under the seat in front.

The flight attendant was still standing there watching him. As Yuuri looked up at her, she gave him a tight smile that seemed to say _what an idiot._

As soon as she had bowed and moved away down the aisle, Yuuri took a deep breath, closed his eyes and collapsed back into his seat. Seoul might only have been an hour away, but he could tell it was going to feel like a long flight.

…

The minute the plane touched down, Yuuri unclipped his seatbelt and yanked his bag out from under the seat in front. His left leg would not stop bouncing. As soon as he saw someone a few rows in front get out of their seat, he leapt up, almost hitting his neighbour in the face as he swung his rucksack onto his back.

A phone. He needed a phone.

Released at last into the departure lounge for connecting flights, he all but ran the length of the long plate-glass wall, searching for a payphone. Did they look the same in Korea as they did in Japan? He couldn’t remember. What if there weren’t any?

He rushed over to the first airport employee he saw. “Excuse me, is there a payphone here?”

The man stared at him blankly, and Yuuri realised he had spoken in Japanese.

“Oh, um, sorry,” he fumbled, trying to make his brain switch to English. “Er… phone. Payphone. Is there – ”

Looking bored, the man pointed at a green payphone a few feet away – _how had he missed it_ – and walked off.

Yuuri bowed to the departing figure out of habit and hurried over to the payphone. His heart sank when he saw the instructions. Of course it only took Korean currency.

He was about to start looking for a bureau de change – would there even be one this side of immigration? – when he realised that there was a phonecard machine next to the payphone. Fumbling with his card, he bought the most expensive one, just in case, and slotted it into the machine.

Shit. He had no idea what Victor’s number was.

The only numbers he could remember were his parents’ home phone, the number of Minako’s studio, the rink phone, and Mari’s mobile. He punched in Mari’s number and waited.

He’d almost given up hope of her answering when there was a _click_ and Mari’s voice came through the receiver. “Hello? Who is this?”

“Oh thank God, Mari, it’s me, I’m so sorry, I left it at Narita, and now I can’t phone Victor and – he thinks I hate him and I’m not coming home and I’ve got no way of telling him, you see, because I left it – ”

“Yuuri? What’s wrong? Tell me slowly, okay?”

Yuuri took a deep breath. “Well, Victor and I had an argument, and I was really unfair to him and now he hates me – ”

“Yuuri. Just tell me what actually happened.”

“Okay, okay. I was going to phone him to let him know that I was still coming back to Russia, you know, that I hadn’t given up on him and gone back and I didn’t hate him and I was sorry – ”

“ _Yuuri._ ”

“Yes?”

“Breathe.”

“Yes. Breathing. Okay.” Yuuri waited until the receiver stopped shaking in his hand. “So I was going to phone him.”

“But?”

“I. Um. Left my phone at Narita,” he said in a small voice.

Mari sighed. “You’re absolutely sure?”

Yuuri nodded, then realised how pointless that was. “Yeah. I went into the toilets to calm down and I left it by the sink.”

“Okay. I’m still in Tokyo because the trains are _still_ all over the place, so I’ll phone the airport and see if anyone’s handed it in, yeah?”

“Thanks, Mari. You’re the best.”

Yuuri could almost see her narrowing her eyes. “There’s something else you want me to do, isn’t there?”

“Um. Could you… could you let Victor know I’m on my way?”

Mari gave an exaggerated sigh. “Anything for you, kidda.”

“Thank you so much – ”

Before Yuuri had even finished speaking, the phone began to beep, demanding coins he didn’t have. He sighed and hung up the receiver.

The need to talk to Victor and make everything right again was a physical ache in his chest. Yuuri knew he probably deserved the pain, but still, the next thirty hours would be torture.

…

“Sir, I need you to step this way, please.”

“Can I ask what this is about? Yuuri said, much more calmly than he felt. This wasn’t exactly the introduction to Kazakhstan he’d been hoping for.

The grim-faced security officer only repeated, “This way, please.”

Yuuri had no choice but to follow him. He fought to keep his breathing steady, fought not to let the dread in his stomach consume him. The more nervous he appeared, the more suspiciously he would be viewed, he knew. _I haven’t done anything wrong. It’ll be okay._

The officer opened a steel door in the corridor wall and ushered Yuuri through, then slammed it shut.

They were in a tiny windowless room furnished only with a metal table and two chairs. Yuuri’s stomach flipped over, and for a moment he thought he would throw up. _This is it. I’m just going to disappear and no-one will ever find me. Victor will never know what happened, he’ll think I just walked out on him –_

“Have a seat, sir,” the officer said, interrupting the stream of panic tearing through Yuuri’s mind.

Yuuri sat down stiffly, every muscle in his body tense. He tried again to ask what was going on, but his throat had completely dried up.

The officer sat down opposite him. Even seated, he towered over Yuuri, and Yuuri was uncomfortably aware of the gun strapped to the man’s thigh. Wordlessly, the man put his hand into his pocket and took out a white packet which he tossed onto the table between them.

Yuuri bit his lip, hard, to stop himself from swearing. His medication. Of course.

The officer was still watching him silently, apparently waiting for him to explain himself. Yuuri swallowed. “Those are – ”

“Drugs,” the man interrupted.

Yuuri shook his head desperately. What was the word? He couldn’t remember the English, only the Russian. “ _Лекарство_.” Medicine.

The security officer stared at him for a long, heart-stopping moment, and then his expression softened. “Do you have a prescription?” he asked. The accent was unfamiliar, but the language was unmistakably Victor’s.

Relief hit Yuuri with the force of a wave breaking across his chest. “Yes. Yes.” He reached into his bag and pulled out the plastic pocket of medical documents he always travelled with these days. Sliding the prescription out of the pocket, he handed it to the officer.

The man glanced over it and then put it down on the table, nonplussed. “I can’t read this.”

Yuuri groaned inwardly. Why had he left the only Russian copy of his prescription with Victor? _Idiot. Idiot._ Still, he hadn’t been expecting to have to go through customs in Kazakhstan of all places. “I’m sorry. My flight – there was snow – I didn’t – here – direct flight – ” Yuuri’s chest began to tighten as the sentences broke apart in his head, and he cast an imploring look up at the officer.

Scowling, the man picked up the prescription and Yuuri’s medication and strode over to the door. “Wait here.” He paused. “Please.”

As he left, the door slammed shut behind him.

Yuuri tried desperately to slow his breathing. Nothing good would come of panicking. If he let himself panic, he’d forget the little Russian he knew, and since his brain had apparently given up on English, that left him only Japanese and Thai for explaining himself to the police – or whoever the officer had gone to fetch – and if he couldn’t make himself understood then nothing would stop them from bundling him onto the next plane back east –

_It’s okay, my darling, it’s okay._

Through all the noise of panic, he could hear Victor’s voice in his mind, as clear as if Victor was right there with him. He closed his eyes.

_You’re going to be all right. I won’t let anything happen to you, I promise._

He could almost feel Victor’s breath on his cheek, Victor’s hands on his shoulders. He knew exactly how Victor’s fingers would trail around the spot between his shoulder blades, gently softening the stubborn knot of tension there. Yuuri allowed himself to feel Victor’s fingertips pressing carefully into his back, allowed himself to hear the words that were murmured in his ear.

_You are more precious to me than anything or anyone, my love. I’ll never let anyone hurt you._

Yuuri imagined himself turning his head to press his lips against Victor’s cheek, imagined the soft warmth of Victor’s skin and the little run of notes that made up Victor’s laugh.

_You’re perfect, Yuuri. I don’t know what I did to deserve you._

_Nor I you,_ Yuuri murmured back.

He was startled out of his daydream by the door opening.

The security officer was back; he was alone, and he was holding out Yuuri’s medication and prescription with one hand while keeping the door ajar with the other. “Everything checks out. You may go. Take these.”

Yuuri hastily got to his feet and took his things from the officer with what he hoped was a smile. “Thank you. I’m sorry to have caused you trouble.”

The officer looked almost amused. “Just make sure you have your documents translated beforehand next time, yes?”

“Yes, of course.” Yuuri bowed and hurried out into the corridor.

He didn’t realise how tired he was until he sank into a chair in the departure lounge – the last one of the trip, he reminded himself – and felt his legs give way beneath him. He wasn’t hungry, or thirsty, or even particularly anxious; he was simply exhausted. It was all he could do to drag himself over to the line when boarding for St Petersburg was finally, finally called.

He was asleep before the plane left the runway.


	2. Chapter 2

**St Petersburg, 07:00**

Throwing his phone down beside him on the sofa, Victor put his head in his hands.

Makkachin, sensing his upset, whined and butted her head against his knee. When Victor didn’t respond, she put her paws on his lap and whined again.

“I screwed up, Makka,” Victor whispered, finally meeting her gaze. “I really screwed up this time.”

Makkachin cocked her head and gave him a puzzled look.

“I got mad at Yuuri and now he’s not coming. You were looking forward to seeing him, weren’t you, girl?” He scratched her chin affectionately and felt Makkachin relax, convinced that all was well with her human. “You don’t understand anything, do you? It’s much simpler that way.” Running his fingers through her tightly curled fur, Victor wished for a moment that he and Makkachin could swap places. Dog emotions were easy to deal with; as long as Makka was fed and walked and groomed, she was happy. Human emotions, now, those were much more difficult.

Victor sighed and swung his legs up onto the couch, readjusting himself so that Makkachin’s head was resting on his stomach. The warmth and weight of it was a comfort Victor wasn’t sure he deserved, not after what he’d said to Yuuri.

It wasn’t _all_ his fault, though. Yuuri’s jibe about Nationals had really stung. It was all right for him; he’d finished thirty points clear of Minami Kenjirō, untouchable, golden. He had stood at the top of that podium looking more at ease than Victor had ever seen him – looking, for perhaps the first time, as if he truly believed in his right to be there. As long as he avoided injury, Yuuri could only climb. Worlds would be a close contest, but Victor would have staked his soul on Yuuri taking the gold.

Yuri would take silver, and he would be left fighting over scraps. Perhaps, trailing in the wake of their two bright stars, he would manage to cling onto bronze. Or perhaps Chris would finally eclipse him as he had been waiting to do ever since a younger, freer Victor had blithely thrown down the gauntlet. There were plenty of others snapping at his heels; that arrogant idiot JJ, for one. Losing to him would be a far greater ignominy than ceding his place on the podium to Otabek or Cao Bin or even Georgi. There was Phichit, too, incandescent in Beijing, tenacious in Barcelona, relishing his entry onto the world stage just as Victor found himself pushed into the wings.

Makkachin whined again and thumped her tail on the floor. She was probably just bored and in need of a walk, but she had an uncanny knack of interrupting just before he could slide into the depths of self-pity. He wondered sometimes if she understood more than he gave her credit for.

“All right, girl, up you get.” Victor manoeuvred himself off the couch and stood up slowly, wincing at the tension in his shoulders and back. A walk wasn’t going to cut it; he needed a run, preferably one long enough to clear his mind of everything but the burn in his lungs and the steady beat of his shoes against the ground. “You up for a proper run, Makka?”

Makkachin let out a joyous yelp and bounded over to the door. Victor envied her that endless enthusiasm. He wished he could be more like her, but he didn’t have the energy “Wait there. Good girl.”

He dug through the laundry basket until he found the tracksuit he’d tossed in there after his last impromptu run, the day after Nationals. He’d meant to do the laundry before now, but – like so many things – it had slipped out of his grasp. Well, now that Yuuri wasn’t going to be here after all, it didn’t matter if he never did the laundry ever again –

_Stop that. You need to get going. Makka’s waiting for you._

Deliberately, he picked a fresh set of running clothes out of his wardrobe and stuffed the old ones back in the laundry. He’d put the washing machine on when he got back – after he fed Makkachin, of course.

She was pawing at the door already. So impatient – she probably got that from him. He called through, “Coming, girl!” and the pawing changed to the sound of her tail thumping against the hall floor. She was his lifeline, really. What was he going to do when –

_No. Stop it._ He picked up his running jacket, then threw it on the floor with a sigh. The cold would do him good. Or at least it might stop him from thinking so damn much. He picked up his keys and opened the door. “Ready, Makka?”

He realised, as he stepped out into the freezing air, that he’d forgotten to warm up. He paused for a moment, deciding whether or not to bother, then set off at a jog with Makkachin bounding ahead of him. Yakov would tear him limb from limb if he pulled a muscle doing this, but he didn’t much care. Yakov was a bloody hypocrite, anyway. Victor had spent a week at the old man’s bedside when he’d drunk himself into hospital after Lilia finally left him; this was nothing. And besides, it wasn’t as if a pulled muscle would be enough to keep him out of Worlds.

Makkachin was pulling ahead of him, her brown figure already blurring into the shadows of the street. Victor lengthened his stride and closed the gap a little; it wouldn’t do to lose sight of her, just in case. Revelling in the way the ground seemed to fly away beneath him, he didn’t slacken his pace even as he caught up to Makkachin. He felt he could run forever. Perhaps he would –

_Enough. Don’t think, just run._ He kicked his pace up another notch and focussed on the movements of his body rather than his mind, keeping his head level, his breathing steady and even. He didn’t slow down even when his feet began to ache and his lungs to burn, just spat into the frozen grass to clear the taste of bile from his mouth and kept on going. Wiped the sweat from his forehead before it could trickle into his eyes, and kept on going. Nothing mattered except the pounding of his feet against the pavement and Makkachin’s panting as she loped alongside him.

He was paying no attention to his surroundings; it was only when he recognised the buildings of Esperova Ulitsa that he realised Makkachin had brought him home again. _You clever girl._ Kicking into a final sprint along the straight, empty road, he came to a stop outside the front door of the apartment building and leant against it, his breath heaving. He fumbled for the key and almost tripped over Makkachin as she bounded inside.

Legs shaking, he stumbled over to the sink, nausea washing over him in an unrelenting wave. He didn’t throw up, but _God_ , he felt awful. He grabbed a glass of water and stood there sipping it slowly, methodically, until the pounding in his temples and the acid in his throat had receded enough for him to register that he was, in fact, freezing. Not only that, but his skin was sticky with sweat, and his legs ached as if he’d just come off the ice. A shower, he needed a shower, needed to get some heat back into his body _now._

Makkachin was sitting by her bowl, eyeing him expectantly. He made himself smile at her. He could feed her once he’d showered. He had to shower now, or he’d lose his motivation and end up falling asleep on the couch, unable to get himself to bed. Mentally, he went through the steps: go into the bathroom, get undressed, turn on the water. Three steps too many with the weight of his and Yuuri’s argument crushing him, but if he convinced himself that he wasn’t allowed to feed Makka until he’d showered, he’d be able to force himself through it. Twenty steps to the bathroom. Almost there. Peeling off his sweat-soaked shirt and shorts, and almost joining them on the tiled floor, but it was too cold for that. He didn’t want to stay standing, but at least the blast of hot water stopped him from shivering. Perhaps he would stay here forever, instead, and just let the water wash him away little by little, or maybe he would keep turning up the heat beyond the numbers on the dial and burn himself down to bones. But for now he just stood.

How long he stood there, he couldn’t tell; it might have been minutes, or it might have been hours. But all of a sudden the sound of Makkachin barking cut through the haze of heat and water. Reluctantly, he turned the shower off, and was just in time to catch the sound of his ringtone before it cut out.

He was going to have to change that ringtone now that he’d fucked things up with Yuuri; even that short run of notes, the last line of _Stammi Vicino_ , was enough to send a pang of guilt through his chest.

He was tempted to turn the shower back on and let whoever it was call him back if it was important. But what if – it wouldn’t be, there was no was way it would be, he would be back home with his family now and quite rightly ignoring Victor’s very existence – but what if it might be Yuuri?

Or worse, what if it wasn't Yuuri, but a member of his family, calling to tell him that there'd been a terrible accident and Yuuri was hurt and it was all his fault for telling Yuuri to go home instead of coming here and it never would have happened if he had just managed to convince Yuuri that it didn't matter how late he arrived, it just mattered that he did -

Throwing a towel around himself, he dashed through to the living room and snatched up his phone from the sofa. He checked the call register.

The last call had been from Yuuri.

Relief flooded through him as he dialled Yuuri's number and hit Call. He didn't care if Yuuri had only called just to yell at him some more; it was enough that Yuuri was still speaking to him, that he was okay.

"Oh my God, Yuuri, I'm so sorry, babe - wait, I probably shouldn't call you that, should I - "

"I don't think our relationship has quite reached that level, no."

"Mari?" What was Yuuri's sister doing with his phone? Did that mean something had happened to Yuuri after all? But she sounded too calm -

"Yes." She sounded faintly amused; surely she couldn't have anything too awful to say?

"Can I speak to Yuuri?"

"What?"

"Yuuri. Is he okay? Is he there?"

"Of course he's not with me. He's on a flight from Seoul to Nur-Sultan right now. I was under the impression that he'd told you he was coming."

"Well he did, but... I thought he'd changed his mind. I - we argued - "

"Yuuri told me."

Victor gulped; Mari's tone was hard as ice. If she was about to scold him, he utterly deserved it.

But all she said was, "He'll be landing at St Petersburg at five tomorrow, so you'd better make sure you're there. Oh, and make yourself obvious – not that that should be a problem for you. He left his phone in the toilets, so he won't be able to contact you."

"He left - then why do you have it?"

Mari sighed. "Because I drove back to Narita and harangued a staff member into picking it up for me, because I actually care about my baby brother."

Ouch. There wasn't much he could say to that.

"He was in a right state when I heard from him, so I need you to look after him, okay? I don't care whose fault the argument was and frankly it's none of my business. But if you hurt him in any way, I will make you wish you were never born. Is that clear?"

Victor swallowed nervously. "Crystal."

"Good. Oh, and by the way..."

"Yes?"

"Merry Christmas, Nikiforov."

Before Victor could return the greeting, Mari hung up.

Victor stared down at his phone, Yuuri's face grinning softly back at him from the screen. So he hadn't fucked things up completely after all; Yuuri still loved him, and he was still coming home. And Victor had approximately twenty-four hours to make sure that home was as welcoming as it could be.

Okay. First things first, he had to feed Makka. A proper breakfast, not the toast she’d stolen from him hours ago. Securing the towel around himself, he dripped through to the kitchen and took down a tin of dog food from the cupboard. "Here, girl!"

She bumped against his legs as he scraped the food into her bowl and dumped the spoon and empty tin in the less-than-empty sink. He would rather have sat and fussed over her, but he had work to do.

He ran hot water and made himself work methodically through the pile of washing that had been sitting there since before Nationals. Yuuri was no clean freak, but Victor couldn't let him see the apartment in this much of a state. Every time he felt like giving up and joining Makkachin on the floor, he reminded himself that he wasn't doing this for himself. This was all for Yuuri.

When at last the pile of grimy plates had been cleared away, he surveyed the rest of the apartment. It needed hoovering, for one thing. But there were things all over the floor, so he'd have to tidy up first. God, how had he let things get this out of hand? Yuuri had only been gone for a few weeks, and besides, Victor was usually the tidier of the two of them.

The thought of tidying the whole apartment was draining, but it had to be done. "Don't let me stop until it's ready for Yuuri, okay, Makka?"

She looked up from her bowl, her head cocked quizzically. Victor laughed and scratched her behind the ears, psyching himself up for the imminent assault on the living room.

Some of the mess was easy to get rid of; clothes went in the laundry basket, cups went in the sink, leftovers went in the bin.

Holding his nose as he dropped yet another rancid takeaway in the bin, he wondered how many proper meals he'd eaten in the past three weeks. How many nights he'd actually slept through, instead of waking in the dark and knowing he wouldn't be able to drop off again. How many times he'd brushed off Yakov's concerns with a pretend version of the airy confidence everyone associated with him, a confidence he hadn't felt in - years, if he was honest. Yuuri's presence made it easier to cope, but it was only in his absence that Victor could admit that Yuuri was right. He needed help.

He wasn't sure how that was going to work. But he knew someone who might.

Pushing aside the heap of clothes he'd dumped on the sofa, he dug out his phone. "Hey, Chris? It's me."

"Oh, hello, Victor darling."

Chris sounded surprised, and not pleasantly so. Victor caught a few hurried words in French, and another man's voice, too distant to be understood. His heart sank. Of course Chris would have company - it was Christmas Eve, after all. What was he thinking, calling Chris out of the blue to beg him for help? Clearly Yuuri had been right about his selfishness, too.

"Victor?"

Chris's voice startled him, and he panicked. What was he supposed to say? 'Oh, sorry, I just realised I shouldn't have called you, goodnight?' _Goodnight? Good morning?_ He didn’t even know what time it was any more.

"I just wanted to say Happy Christmas. You know, since I'm going to be busy tomorrow, what with Yuuri coming back and all. Just making sure I don't forget."

"How very considerate of you," Chris laughed. "I suppose it's already Christmas for you over there?"

He glanced at the clock on his screen, his heart sinking as he realised that Chris was right. He had spent the whole of Christmas Eve tidying the apartment, and he wasn’t even halfway done. "Mmm. Just about."

"Just as well. You always were an impatient one."

Victor laughed uncomfortably. "Yeah, I know."

There was a beat of awkward silence. "Well, Merry Christmas, Victor."

"Thanks. You t- I mean, tell Masumi I said Merry Christmas too."

"Of course. Same to Yuuri."

"Right. Thanks. Night, Chris."

"Sleep well, darling."

He wouldn't sleep a wink until Yuuri was home safe, but Chris wouldn't have thought of that, not with Masumi right there. He murmured a thank you anyway, and hung up.

What now? Yuuri was arriving in fourteen hours, and it would take about an hour to drive to the airport in this weather. That left him thirteen to make this place habitable again, which would have been plenty of time if his body were not made of lead and his mind full of a fog that he had to fight his way through with every thought.

_Right. One thing at a time_. Pick up the clothes off the sofa, dump them in the laundry basket. Drag the laundry basket into the utility room and upend it into the washing machine. Put the washing machine on, get the hoover, stop to pet Makka, sit down, and stay down here where he didn't have to do anything -

His phone beeped.

_Yuuri_ he thought instantly, on his feet before he remembered that Mari had Yuuri's phone and anyway, Yuuri was thirty thousand feet up somewhere between Korea and Kazakhstan. But perhaps Mari was calling _about_ Yuuri. Perhaps, while he'd been lying around feeling sorry for himself, Mari had been tracking Yuuri's flight. Perhaps something had gone wrong - the plane was delayed, or there'd been some kind of accident, and Yuuri was -

He snatched up his phone, almost breathless with worry. "Hello?"

"Victor."

"Chris? What's up?"

"There's no way you called me just to say Happy Christmas. You don’t even celebrate it."

"Chris - "

"Cut the crap, Victor. What's going on?"

Victor sighed. "You know me far too well."

"Not well enough to read your mind, Vic. Help me out here."

"Honestly, Chris, it's fine. I just - I need to talk to you at some point. But it doesn't need to be now! I mean, it's Christmas Eve, I don't want to disturb you and Masumi - "

"He's gone to sleep. Spit it out, darling."

"I'm... I've not been doing so well."

Silence from the other end of the phone. Victor's stomach sank. Of course he'd been wrong to start this conversation; it wasn't as if Chris was going to be able to solve everything, and anyway, it wasn't fair to him.

"Not to sound too harsh, but... no _shit_ , Sherlock."

"What?"

"Come _on_ , Vic. I've been telling you for years. Even when I was going through hell myself, I could see that you weren't in a good place." Chris paused. "Sorry, I'm not being very helpful, am I?"

"No, it's... It's fine. Sorry, I just... It's taken me a long time to get to this point, I guess. And now I'm here I don't have a clue what to do. I didn't really have a plan beyond calling you, to be honest."

"Sounds like a perfectly good plan to me. I'm sorry I was, er, distracted when you called me earlier," Chris laughed.

"Wait, you and Masumi were - oh my _God_ , Chris. You should've told me. Actually, no, I'm glad you didn't, that would've been awful. Oh God. I'm... sorry, I guess?"

Chris chuckled. "No harm done. He's staying with me for a couple of weeks, so we'll have plenty of time to make up for - "

"Yes, yes, all right, I get the picture. I'm very happy for you, Chris, but I didn't call to talk about your sex life."

"Yeah, I know. Sorry, Vic. So you wanted my help?"

"Yes. No. I don't know. I suppose I... need your help with getting help? Like, I've never done this before, never been to therapy or anything - "

"Clearly."

"Quit it, Chris. I _know_ I'm late to the party, you don't have to rub it in. I just... You're the only one I know who's done this whole therapy thing and actually got something out of it. Yuuri's... I know he used to go, but from what I've heard - it sounded _horrible_ , Chris, it seemed to just make everything even worse. It wasn't - it wasn't like that for you, right?"

For a long time, Chris didn't answer. Then he sighed, and said, "Not in the end, no. In the end, things got better, and I know they wouldn't have done without therapy. Without you pushing me to go. But Vic..." He sighed again. "You have to understand that it's not easy, especially not at the beginning. I know it's not what you want to hear, but I have to be honest with you. It’s really fucking hard work."

Hugging the towel around himself, Victor reached for Makkachin, desperate for her warmth. "What am I supposed to do when everything goes to shit? What do I do when I'm in pieces and Yuuri's in pieces and I have to be there for him and I _can’t_ because I can't even look after myself - "

"What have you been doing up until now?"

"Not enough!" He said the words so vehemently that Makkachin started and gave him a baleful look. He patted her on the head by way of apology, and tried again. "I've been failing him, Chris. He falls apart in front of me and I just _stand_ there, not doing anything, because if I try to help him I'll just make things even worse! I'm useless to him. He deserves someone who can look after him properly - "

"Listen to me, darling. Yuuri can look after himself just fine. What he needs is someone who can support him - and it's no wonder you feel like you're falling short when you haven't been getting any support yourself. I know that telling you not to be so hard on yourself is like telling you to spend less on clothes - "

"I'm a public figure, Chris! If I slack off, there'll be a cover story in _Secrets of the Stars_ crowing about how I've lost my touch. And anyway, look who's talking! I'm not the one who spent all my prize money on sunglasses."

"I have delicate eyes," Chris protested, affecting an indignant tone. "You wouldn't understand, coming from a place that gets three days of sunshine a year." He laughed. "What I'm trying to say, darling, is that you're already doing great, and the fact that you want to do better just shows how much he means to you."

"Okay, but how do I actually _do_ better?"

"Have you tried asking him what he needs?"

"When he's in the middle of it, he's not exactly responsive. And when he comes out of it I don't want to risk bringing him back down, so I sort of don't mention it."

"You might find he doesn't mind talking about it, Vic."

"Even so, what am I supposed to do this time? I can't reach him without his phone. Mari said he's already in a state, and she basically threatened to murder me if I make things worse for him once he gets here."

"You need to talk to a Katsuki expert."

"Mari scares the shit out of me, Chris, I can't - "

Chris laughed. "I'm not talking about his family, Vic. I'm talking about someone who knows Yuuri better than both of us combined. Someone who put up with his massive and obvious crush on you for five years and is still best friends with him despite having to live through that."

"Oh thank God, you mean Phichit. I thought you were going to make me have awkward coach chitchat with Celestino or something."

"You'd still have done it if it was what Yuuri needed - "

"Of course!"

"Relax, darling, it wasn't a test. I know he means the world to you, and I don't doubt your commitment to him in the slightest."

Victor exhaled slowly. "So... I suppose I should go and talk to Phichit, then."

"He might be able to help, that's all I'm saying."

"Okay. Thanks, Chris. I'm sorry about... stuff."

"Nonsense. I'm always here for you, darling, you know that."

"Okay, well... Merry Christmas, then."

"Merry Christmas, Vic. And good luck."

As soon as Victor had hung up, he messaged Phichit while he still had the guts. Maybe it was selfish of him, but if he started thinking about time zones and trying to remember whether or not Phichit celebrated Christmas, he would lose what little courage he had.

_Hey, can we talk? This is a Yuuri-related matter and I need your help._

Almost instantly, a FaceTime call came through. Holding the phone as far away from himself as he could, conscious of how much of a mess he looked, he clicked 'accept’.

"Hi Victor!" Phichit grinned as he appeared on the screen. Then his eyes went wide. "And, uh, hi, Victor's dick."

Victor looked down, puzzled, and realised far too late that at some point, the towel he had wrapped around himself had fallen off. "Oh _fuck_." The towel was nowhere to be seen and if he stood up to look for it things were not going to go well for him. "Phichit, oh my God, I'm so sorry." Fuck. The evening just kept getting better and better. "I didn't mean - "

"Didn't realise this was a booty call, Victor. I wonder what Yuuri will say." Smiling malevolently, Phichit fiddled with his phone.

"I'm sorry!" Victor threw down his phone, which didn't stifle the sound of Phichit's giggling nearly enough, and dashed through to the bedroom. He grabbed a shirt tried to force it on, only to realize that the arms were too short. _What the -_ He looked at it properly and realised that it wasn't his shirt; it was Yuuri's.

It would probably make excellent kindling for Phichit's Instagram fire, but it didn't actually fit him, and Phichit had already seen far too much of his body as it was. He dug out a shirt and a pair of trousers that actually belonged to him and dressed as quickly as he could before rushing back through to the living room and picking up his phone.

Phichit was still smirking, and he now had a message notification. From Mari.

Victor gulped, and clicked through.

_NIKIFOROV, EXPLAIN TO ME_ RIGHT NOW _WHY CHULANONT JUST SENT MY BROTHER A DICK PIC. OF_ YOUR _DICK_.

"Phichit, what the hell?!"

Phichit grinned like the Cheshire Cat. "I'm doing Yuuri a service. I'm sure he misses you."

"He doesn't have his phone - "

"Then it'll be a surprise for him when he gets it back. Don't you dare delete it, it took me ages to find the right filter."

"I don't have his phone either!"

"Then who - "

"Mari does."

Phichit at least had the grace to look sorry about it. "Oops?"

"So if you get an invitation to my funeral in the next few days, you know what happened."

To his surprise, Phichit didn't laugh. His face fell almost exactly like Yuuri’s tended to when his thoughts began to spiral, and his shoulders sagged. "I overstepped a boundary again, didn't I?"

He looked so stricken that Victor didn't quite know what to say. "I mean, I'd prefer to be told _before_ you send a picture of my penis to someone else, yeah."

"I'm really sorry," Phichit said quietly. "I'm trying to get better at – all this. Boundaries, I mean. Yuuri's great at letting me know when I've messed up, and I _am_ learning. But sometimes I forget."

"It's okay. Really." Victor tried a smile. "You weren't to know that Mari had Yuuri's phone." _Oh right. Mari. Still have to deal with that_. "Give me a sec, Phichit."

_Long story short, I had a wardrobe malfunction, and Phichit says he's very sorry_.

_A wardrobe malfunction would imply you actually had a wardrobe to begin with_ , Mari shot back.

_It won't happen again_. Or at least not while Mari was still in possession of Yuuri's phone, anyway.

A horrible thought occurred to him.

_You haven't read any of his other messages, have you?_ It was already going to be difficult to look Mari in the face next time they met; if she'd seen some of the things he'd written to Yuuri, well, he might as well pack up and move to Siberia immediately.

_I have basic respect for my brother's privacy, unlike certain other people I could mention._

_I suppose I walked right into that. But thank you_. This was going to be one weird conversation to explain once Yuuri got his phone back.

"Sorry about that, Phichit," Victor said, flipping back to the FaceTime screen. "I think I might have earned myself a stay of execution, though."

"Oh good." Phichit’s usual smile was back, although he still looked a little guilty. "Now, why did you want to talk about Yuuri?"

_Why wouldn't I want to talk about him_ , Victor almost said. _He's everything_. But gushing about Yuuri would not change the fact that Yuuri was due home in a few hours, and Victor was terrified.

"It's embarrassing to admit this when we've been together for more than a year, but I still feel like I'm useless to him when he most needs me," Victor said after a moment.

Phichit frowned. "What do you mean?"

"When he gets anxious, I'm - I'm terrible at dealing with it. I only make it worse."

"You don't tell him to calm down or anything, do you?"

"Only once. I didn't make that mistake again." Victor winced at the memory.

"Okay, that's a good start," Phichit smiled. "It took me much longer to realise that wasn't helping."

"So what _does_ help? Nothing I've tried seems to work - "

"Sometimes nothing does. If there was something that worked every time, he wouldn't have anxiety attacks, right?"

"Are you saying there's nothing I can do?"

"No. Not at all. Just being there for him will be helping him more than you know," Phichit assured him. "But sometimes that _is_ all you can do."

"And at other times?"

"Reminding him to breathe is the most important thing. Get him to breathe with you. It might take a while, but that usually stabilises him."

"Sorry to be quizzing you like this, Phichit," Victor said, shamefaced.

"Not at all! We both want what's best for Yuuri, right?"

"Of course."

And Victor listened as Phichit related the things he'd learnt from his time with Yuuri in Detroit - the times Celestino, well-meaning but gauche, had sent Yuuri into a tailspin with an offhand comment during training; the exact ratio of coffee to sleep that Yuuri needed; the signs that would tell Victor when the best thing to do, no matter how much he wanted to help, was to give Yuuri space until he was ready to be around people again.

"Thanks, Phichit," he said as the list came to an end with the stern reminder not to let Yuuri near a bottle of champagne unsupervised. "I know I should have asked about all of this before - " _Before I fell so catastrophically in love with him that I couldn't bear to bring it up in case he didn't want to talk about it_ _and I accidentally ruined the one thing that’s actually brought me sustained happiness in the past two decades?_

Jesus, he really _did_ need help.

Phichit waved away his concern. "You're asking now, which means you really care about him." He smiled. "You'll tell him I said Happy Christmas, won't you? I'm not gonna risk messaging while Mari's got hold of his phone, just in case."

Victor laughed. "Of course I will. Happy Christmas, Phichit."

As the screen went blank, Victor sat back on the sofa and sighed. Still ten hours until Yuuri arrived, but the apartment was as clean as it was realistically going to get, and he'd gone shopping a few days ago, so there were no more errands to run. He couldn't sit around here waiting any longer. The commercial clutter of the airport might at least distract him.

"Ready to go, Makka? We're gonna pick up your favourite person!"

Makkachin whuffed happily and bounded over to the door. Victor cast an eye over the apartment again, comforted by the thought that, next time he saw it, Yuuri would be there. He slipped into his coat and, letting Makkachin out, closed the door behind them.

...

The drive to the airport was just long enough for the silence to close in around him the way the air in the apartment did when Yuuri wasn't there to keep it from suffocating him. Makkachin was curled up on the back seat, asleep, too far out of his reach to provide any comfort.

Sighing, he flicked on the radio. He didn't care what was on; he just needed to hear another human voice.

The voice that emerged was that of some old American crooner; it was vaguely familiar, but Victor couldn't be bothered digging around in his memory to come up with a name or a face. He concentrated on the English words, straining to pick them out against the lush orchestral accompaniment.

_I'll be home for Christmas_

_You can plan on me_

_Please have snow_

_And mistletoe_

_And presents under the tree_

_Christmas Eve will find me_

_Where the lovelight gleams_

_I'll be home for Christmas_

_If only in my dreams_

Victor scowled and switched the channel.

...

Drumming his fingers on the grubby Formica tabletop, Victor wished he'd ordered something simpler.

This was the only airport cafe he'd found that didn't have Christmas music playing. But no sooner had he placed his order than the inoffensive Russian pop had changed to some maddening song about driving home for Christmas.

Everything seemed determined to remind him that, while other people were already at home with their loved ones, Yuuri was still stuck in a stuffy aeroplane, certainly uncomfortable and quite possibly anxious as hell. And it was Victor's fault for insisting that he move to St Petersburg, for uprooting him from his family and his home and dragging him across a continent and a half just to make himself happy.

He knew, rationally, that the move had been Yuuri's decision as much as his. But it was hard to convince himself of that, sometimes.

_I'm driving home for Christmas_

_Oh, I can't wait to see those faces_

He tangled his fingers in Makkachin's fur and hoped his food was going to be worth the wait.

...

Still six hours until Yuuri's plane was due to land. It hadn't been delayed again, which was a small blessing, but Victor didn't know what to do with himself anymore. Makkachin was sleeping on the floor next to his chair, exhausted from pacing alongside Victor up and down the long airport hallways. It hadn't tired him out nearly enough, and now he was trapped here until Makkachin woke up again.

His mind wandered to what Phichit had told him. _You have to remind Yuuri that he's loved. He knows, but his brain makes him forget things. If you want him to thrive, you have to remind him._

When Yuuri finally arrived, Victor would hold him right and not let go. _It's okay, my darling, it's okay_ , he would tell him - not to chase Yuuri's fears away, because only Yuuri could do that, but to help Yuuri stay on his feet as he weathered the storm. _You're going to be all right. I won't let anything happen to you, I promise._ He would lace his fingers through Yuuri's, feeling the comforting clink of Yuuri's ring against his own. _You are more precious to me than anything, my darling, my love_ , he would whisper in Yuuri's ear, drawing Yuuri's face towards his own so that Yuuri could not see the stares or hear the whispers. _I'll never let anyone hurt you_. He would kill anyone who dared to try. He would feel the warmth of Yuuri's skin beneath his fingers, marvelling at the miracle of him, at the fact that Yuuri was his, to have and to hold, and that he was allowed to be Yuuri's. _You're perfect, Yuuri. I don't know what I did to deserve you_.

_Nor I you_ , whispered the Yuuri in his mind's eye.

Victor smiled and finally drifted into sleep.


	3. Chapter 3

In Yuuri's dream, the plane was gliding over a brightly-lit city, the engines whining as they dropped below the last of the clouds and down towards the runway that stretched out beneath like a river of light. He knew it was a dream, because he no longer felt tired, or impatient, or annoyed; he simply sat and watched as the other passengers shifted in their seats, ready to be on the ground again. His muscles had ceased to ache, and his headache had lifted, leaving an almost-delirious lightness in its wake. It was the best dream Yuuri had had since leaving Russia, and he was in no hurry to part from it. Even the air in the cabin was different, its harsh fluorescence softened to a calm golden glow.

Their descent lasted years, or perhaps no time at all; it was hard to tell, in the flow of the dream, and besides, it hardly nattered. Yuuri was going home. That was a pleasant thought, but there was no need to hurry; dream-Victor would be there to meet him whenever he arrived.

He felt a twinge of doubt as something, some unpleasant memory from outside his dream, shook that certainty a little. But he could deal with that when he awoke; there was no need to let go of the dreamworld just yet.

The pilot's voice murmured through the speakers in warm but incomprehensible Russian as the plane touched down. The other passengers were up on their feet and unloading their things, but Yuuri waited. He had all the time in the world. Finally, when the plane had come to a full stop, he rose and lifted his skate bag down from the overhead locker, and dug his rucksack out from under the seat in front. That done, he joined the queue to leave.

If he were awake, he knew, this stage - shuffling off an overheated plane into a cramped shuttle bus, struggling through encounters with grim-faced immigration officials, waiting an age for luggage which might well turn up battered and broken or not appear at all - would usually leave him an anxious mess, too frazzled to return Victor's enthusiastic greetings even once he finally made it through to the arrivals lounge. But in his dream, nothing perturbed him; not the sharpness of the chill air as he stepped out into the St Petersburg night, not the bumpy ride to the terminal building, not the queue snaking up to immigration. He smiled at the officer who checked his passport and was through to baggage reclaim faster than he ever managed in reality. There was his suitcase, waiting for him on the carousel. It even seemed lighter than it would if he were really carrying it. He took a few steps towards the exit, and stopped.

What if his dream ended once he stepped through the door, and he was greeted not by dream-Victor but the awful realisation that he was still trapped in the stale air of a plane suspended thousands of feet above Kazakhstan, with hours of boredom to endure until he finally landed and found out that Victor, justifiably angry at his outburst, had not come to meet him? What if he found himself stranded at the airport in the last hours of Christmas Day, adrift from everything and too exhausted by his journey even to figure out how to get himself home, let alone patch things up with Victor?

He mustn't let himself panic, or the dream would end even sooner; he wanted to savour these last minutes of calm as best he could. He headed over to the exit and out into the arrivals hall.

A ball of brown fur came flying straight for him and almost knocked him off his feet. Steadying himself against his suitcase, he looked down to see Makkachin - or rather, dream-Makkachin, he supposed - pawing excitedly at his legs. "Hey, girl," he said softly, half-expecting his voice not to work. "I've really missed you, you know."

"Not half as much as I've missed you, my love."

Yuuri jerked his head up in surprise and found himself staring right into Victor's eyes. There was no anger in them; they were as soft and as blue as ever, lit up by Victor's wide smile as he said, "Welcome home, babe."

Yuuri stepped forward and buried his face in Victor's coat, taking in his achingly familiar scent, the softness of the fabric against his skin, the comforting solidity of Victor's chest against his cheek, Victor's arms around him. He wanted to remember every detail of this moment so that when he inevitably woke up - and it wouldn't be long now - he would at least have the lingering memories to comfort him. He lifted his head and gazed up at Victor, cradling Victor's cheek in his hand. "God, I wish this were real."

Victor's smile took on a note of bemusement. "What do you mean, babe?"

"I wish I wasn't going to wake up soon and realise that this was all a dream and I'm still stuck on a plane and you're still mad at me - "

Victor stared at him for a second, then drew Yuuri's face towards him and kissed him.

"Did that feel like a dream?" Victor asked as he pulled away, his eyes twinkling.

"The best dream I've ever had," Yuuri murmured. Waking up from this was going to be a real nightmare.

Laughing, Victor shook his head. "Listen to me, babe. You're not dreaming. This is all real, I promise."

"But of course you'd say that," Yuuri protested. "You're in my dream. You're just telling me what I want to hear."

"That flight _really_ messed with your head, huh?" Victor grinned. "Right. Look. You know how writing always looks weird in dreams? You can't quite read it, or you look away and when you look back, it says something different?"

Yuuri nodded.

"Okay." Victor rifled through his pocket and pulled out a bit of crumpled paper and a pen, and scribbled something down. "What does this say, babe?"

Yuuri squinted at the paper. His eyes felt tired suddenly, and his head was swimming, but he could read the letters clearly. "Merry Christmas, Yuuri."

"Great. Now close your eyes."

Obediently, Yuuri did so.

"And open them again?"

Yuuri felt his breath catch in his throat as he opened his eyes and looked down at the paper, sure that he would see only unintelligible marks. But Victor's writing was still there, as clear as crystal. _Merry Christmas, Yuuri_.

"You see? You're not dreaming, Yuuri."

"But - "

"Try this one." Victor scrawled something else on the scrap of paper and held it out.

"Happy Anniversary." 

"Do you understand? I'm here, Yuuri. Makka's here. You're home. And in time for Christmas, too."

Yuuri blinked, and rubbed his eyes, but the scene didn't change. He reached out to touch Victor's face again, but exhaustion finally overcame him and he stumbled forward into Victor's arms, too tired to hold himself up any longer. "I thought I'd ruined everything," he whispered. "I thought you weren't coming, I thought you were mad at me - "

Victor hugged him tightly, as if to convince himself that Yuuri was real. "Of course I'm not mad at you, babe." He kissed the top of Yuuri's head, and held him there against his chest, his heartbeat strong in Yuuri's ears. "There are some things we need to fix, I think," he said softly. "Some things we maybe haven't talked about as much as we should. But there'll be plenty of time for that now that you're home." He squeezed Yuuri tightly once more before letting him go. "First, though, we have an anniversary to celebrate. How does that sound?"

Yuuri smiled. "That sounds wonderful, my love."


End file.
